


Jenny

by redtoblack



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: (Jennifer) + (Christmas Trees) - (Murder), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Crack, Gen, They/Them Pronouns for The Monster (The Magicians)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtoblack/pseuds/redtoblack
Summary: Christmas Trees are not for eating, Brian-not-Brian says so. So They won't try to eat any. (Unless...)
Relationships: Brian & The Monster (The Magicians)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17
Collections: Peaches and Plums Stockings 2020





	Jenny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snoopypez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoopypez/gifts).



> What kind of Christmas crack fic would I write, if not this? I hope it lives up to the Uber-promo-Monster standard! <3
> 
> Thanks to stormcoming for betaing!

Everyone worries so much about whether They have a name. Why? What is the point of having a name? Can the human behind the counter not remember Their face?

Perhaps that is it. Perhaps humans have far worse memory than They do. And that is why they ask so petulantly for a name, a silly squeaking of liquid, odd-smelling charcoal on the drinking vessel, so that the Starbucks humans do not have to feel bad about forgetting what They order.

Which is another mystery They will have to ask Brian-not-Brian about. This is a new drink, one They have not seen before. The human called it a “special.” But it does not taste of magic — They thought maybe the magic was sitting on the bottom of the drinking vessel, but no. Even after They stirred it all up, the only unfamiliar flavor is the “peppermint bark.”

Of which They were at first suspicious, of course. But the human assured Them that there were no pieces of bark hiding in Their drink. It tastes sweet, like the honey They used to find in the wild, and sharp like the flavor is poking at Them with every sip. But it is enjoyable. Brian-not-Brian will like it.

They bring him the drink. He sits in his tiny room, an “apartment” that feels more trapping than Blackspire. But Brian-not-Brian insists that he is fine there, so They have given up trying to break him out.

“Hello Brian.”

He startles when They appear in front of him, looking down at the drinking vessel in Their outstretched hand. He is very cute when he is surprised, They could just eat him up. Except They won’t. Because Ora explained to Them long ago that beings don’t really enjoy being eaten, and that makes it a very bad game.

“What is this?” he is asking, already taking a sip. Good Brian-not-Brian, he is such a good friend, letting Them share things that They enjoy with him.

“It is a special,” They inform him, “that tastes of peppermint but has no bark in it. What is that?”

They are pointing, now, at the large tree They have spotted through the window, covered in shiny things. They like shiny things. They want to eat them. They want to eat the whole tree.

But They also want to _know_ — it was not there yesterday, and as far as They have seen (and They have seen much), trees do _not_ grow so fast.

Brian-not-Brian scrambles to catch the drinking vessel as They drop it. He is so silly sometimes, acting like things have any meaning once They are bored with them.

“Uh, it’s — uh. A Christmas tree,” he is saying haltingly. It does not explain much to Them. But They can forgive him for being bad at talking. Plenty of the Blackspire creatures had been bad at talking, and They had quickly learned that even that is better than no talking at all.

“We do not have...Christmas Trees in Fillory. How do they grow so tall? And what of the shiny pieces,” They continue, appearing by the window to press Their nose to the glass, “are they like jimmies? Come along.” They hold Brian-not-Brian’s arm so that he will appear right next to them. Now is not the time for hide and seek. Now is the time for new and shiny.

“No — uh, no you can’t, they’re not — um, _hey,_ ” Brian-not-Brian is calling after Them as They approach the tree. They pause, one foot sliding across the crushed stone ground to a stop. That tone usually means he is about to tell Them not to do something.

“What?”

“It’s just, they’re not for eating. Not edible. They’ll make you sick, you should just, um — hey, look, here —” He is holding out the drinking vessel from earlier. The _peppermint bark-not-bark._

“Brian-not-Brian, you are very wise,” They decide, and sweep back to his side to take Their drink. They link arms with him and appear back in the apartment. “Christmas trees are not fun if I cannot eat them. This is why we are best friends.”

\--

“Brian-not-Brian! I have found Christmas trees you can eat! Look —” They say, putting the lap-top right up close so he can see.

“Jesus, good morning,” he is saying, setting down his coffee on the counter to take the device. His eyes open and close rapidly as he holds it farther from his face, which means — 

Ah, the confusion game. They remember how to play. “They are Christmas cookies. I do not understand their birth story about a P-T-A, but the reviews gave them five stars.” He does not look convinced. “Brian, I have only ever eaten _one_ star before. If we do not find these, I am going to consume the tree outside instead.”

Finally. He does not look confused anymore. Instead, one hand presses firmly on his forehead — headache? Tired? Is he worried it might fall off??

“Is your...head falling off?” They ask, unsure.

“Uh. No. But these aren’t things you just find, we have to, um, build them.”

\--

They are not being allowed to help. It is very disappointing.

They put on an apron and everything. Just like the humans in the lap-top.

But Brian-not-Brian said that the trees won’t grow unless They wait. So They are sitting very still in front of the oven, watching the trees grow. Very slowly. They aren’t sure how the trees will be fully grown in less than one hour if they are still so very small. But then Brian-not-Brian sets down several bowls on the floor, filled with a sugary cream, and bottles of color. Potions?

“Make whatever colors you want the trees to be,” he is saying. The bottles must truly be magic, then, if the color will make the trees grow differently. They concern Themselves with making green — the color of Christmas Trees — and orange — the color of Them — and a swirly red-and-white which is the color of peppermint bark. Because trees have bark.

They have just finished adding the red when something starts howling.

“Does something want to play?” They ask, brightening. But Brian-not-Brian only steps over them towards the oven.

“No, it’s just the trees,” he is saying.

The trees are howling?

“It means they’re almost finished growing,” he is continuing. And quieting the noises with one finger, and taking out the metal that they are growing on, and closing the oven behind him. “But not yet. They, um. They have to cool down or else eating them won’t be any fun.”

“But they _smell_ like eating them now would be fun,” They say, and watch him suspiciously. But he smiles, dusting off sugar on his own apron. So They figure he is telling the truth. He is very good at that.

He takes the colors They have created, saying he needs them to finish building the cookies. And They would only be bored if They watched. So They stay on the floor with a piece of paper that Brian-not-Brian drops for Them, tearing it into tiny pieces. Brian-not-Brian tells Them not to eat any.

So They only eat a few when he is not looking.

Eventually, he sits down on the floor with Them. And is carrying a plate of cookie-sized trees, grown in green and orange and red-and-white, just the way They intended.

“They grew very well, Brian. Are they fun to eat now?” He is nodding. And picking up an orange tree while They pick up a green one.

The tree is sweet. That must be the sap. And crunchy, the bark. They are not sure where the leaves are, but there are tiny shiny bits dusted across it just like the big tree outside.

“But the shiny bits are not safe to eat,” They inform Brian-not-Brian, going to take his tree and brush them off.

“No, it’s okay, these ones are special,” he is saying, looking after his tree in Their hand. There is that word again. _Special._ They hand the orange tree back carefully and take another bite of shiny green.

“When humans say special, do they mean magic?”

“Um, not always. Sometimes special just means...important, or different.”

That makes sense. They nod. Because that is what humans do to communicate that things make sense. These tiny trees feel very important and different. And so did the drink with the peppermint bark-not-bark that They shared with Brian-not-Brian instead of eating the big not-for-eating tree. They did not know, when They escaped Blackspire, how much of the humans’ world would feel important and different. But. They think They are glad to be finding out.


End file.
